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He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. "Lean on me," said Jack.
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